Mafioso X Framer Fanfic
by SomeRandomChicaroonie
Summary: I decided to make this because of all the hate the framer gets, this is just a small story between the Mafioso and framer


Framer x Mafioso fanfiction

TRIGGER WARNING

SELF HARM

SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

THIS IS MY FIRST FANFIC IT'S PROBABLY NOT VERY GOOD

The framer shifted around his bed impatiently. Late night thoughts, once again, seized his mind.

"Does the Mafia even need me?"

"I'm worthless"

"Hell, I bet the godfather wants to kill me"

Eventually, the framer fell asleep, hoping the terrors of the night wouldn't get to him.

"YOU'RE FUCKING WORTHLESS!"

The shouts of the Disguiser got to the Framer once again. Pretending not to be hurt by his remark, the framer fired back with some choice words of his own.

"At least I don't cross-dress for a living!"

"GODFATHER!" The disguiser shouted, pissed off with the framer's remark.

"Now what the fuck do you want? I was in the middle of a cigar!" The middle aged man shouted. He was the leader of the mafia, around 55 years old, hair greying, and mostly relaxed; that is if the mafia followed his orders.

"Framer said all I do is cross-dress for a living! And I was just telling the truth about his role!" The godfather threw his cigar, still lit, calling the mafioso to put out the flame before the house eventually turned out to look like the arsonist payed a visit.

"Well whatzactly didcha say to him?" his thick Italian accent slurred together some of his words occasionally, a tick the whole mafia found a tad irritable. "The truth, sir, the truth, I said how we need him in the mafia and how we can't live without him!" He choked out nervously, attempting to hide the truth. As he shooed away the disguiser it was the framers turn to hear his part of the speech from the godfather.

"You called him a fucking cross-dresser?! At least he can switch identities unlike YOU! What do we even have you for? Just to make the sheriff play a little game of cat and mouse?" He felt a pinprick of needles across his cheek and felt heat rising to the surface, he pressed to where the godfather had slapped him, and felt heat, pain, and a bit of a tingling sensation.

Later that night, after the rest of the mafia headed to bed, the framer went to the bathroom. Forgetting a particularly nasty remark from the consigliere about "jacking off to a picture of the consort" he rifled through the drawers, hoping to find what he needed. Yep, there is was as he remembered it. The shiny knife, gained after he was sacrificed to the serial killer by the janitor, the serial killer felt a bit sorry for him, so he left him go, giving him the knife, but not before scratching across his entire face.

But here is was in all it's glory, shiny, sharp, good for cutting more than throats. Avoiding his already cut up thighs, the framer decided to start somewhere fresh. His wrists. Although in the past he thought that his wrists were too obvious, he finally decided the mafia wouldn't give a damn anyways and started on his wrists. The tickling sensation of the knife still got to him, even after all this time. Avoiding the feeling he carved the knife downwards, fearing going too deep he only went about 3 inches each. He made 10 marks in total. Two for what just happened, and one for each member of the mafia that wasn't him. The framer mumbled as he made the marks. One for each mafia member that treated him like shit.

"One for disobeying the godfather..."

"One for letting the disguiser walk all over me..."

"One for the disguiser…"

"One for the godfather…"

"One for the janitor…"

"One for the consort…"

"One for the blackmailer…"

"One for the consigliere..."

"One for the forger…"

"One for the mafio-"

It was then he realized, the mafioso never treated him TOO badly, the only time it was bad is when the godfather was in his presence, and even then he seemed a bit guilty to do it. Shame and guilt always pooled in his hazel eyes when he said that. Though he didn't know why, besides the godfather, he was the most important mafia member. He could use his good looks to think their victim was just another escort paying a visit before taking their life. The mafioso almost put the consort to shame. With his curly brown hair and hazel eyes, and looking innocent and lost- in a sexy way, the framer never paid much mind to the mafioso, not even now.

Comparing himself with him he made the rest of the mark, carefully avoiding the bruises given to him by the blackmailer and forger over time. Those two were like a crime duo, always helping make the townies frustrated and the framer hurt. Then he went back to comparing himself with the mafioso, he was lanky and pale, mafioso was average height and tan. The framer had boring brown eyes, he had hazel, it's like the mafioso was what the framer always wanted to be.

Before going to bed, he made a few more marks just to settle the feelings of today. Feeling satisfied with the warm blood dripping down his arm, he remembered it hurt more to cut here, making a mental note of that. Careful not to cut his fingers more due to numerous paper cuts from the job, he carefully rinsed off the knife, and locked it deep down in the drawer marked 'framer'. Even the mafia didn't want to touch that drawer, feeling they would get "asshole cooties" if they touched it. Realizing what time it was, he carefully ran through to his bedroom. Tiptoeing would just make the old floorboards creak. He lie in bed, scratching at his cuts already, thinking if how it would be a pain in the ass to cover this up in the morning. He fell asleep after cuddling closer into the sheets and hearing a gunshot go off and a sound of a shrieking townie.


End file.
